


Through The Wire

by NoodleDragons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, OCs are just random people, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in later chapters, Slow Burn, Sometimes it is funny, Sometimes this is serious, They're all 18, young!mchanzo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9600887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoodleDragons/pseuds/NoodleDragons
Summary: Jesse McCree just wants to make a name for himself. When Boss tells him that he's going to be the one to assassinate the Shimada clan's heir: he couldn't be more ready. But when life decides to throw a curve ball; Jesse must weigh his options and decide what he really wants, and if it is worth his life."For a chance to be with you, I'd gladly risk it allRight down through the wire, even through the fire."





	1. American Zero

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for my best friend Madeline. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a one shot, but I ended up enjoying myself. My writing isn't the best, but I hope you enjoy it. Don't worry, your sex will come in due time. It is already written, but I am editing it to perfection.

In the South, nothing will take your life faster than the heat, especially in the middle of August. Even if you were in the middle of a good ol’ fashioned cowboy showdown, if it was hot enough, the sun would get you before the bullet did. And no one knew it better in that moment than Jesse McCree, age 18. The young cowboy is dressed in rugged black jeans, a brown button-up and a red bandana around his neck. He wears a black protective chest plate over his shirt and it clings tight to his defined chest as he turns to the side, looking at the lifeless body behind him. The smell of open wounds and gun burned flesh is ripe, and is only worsening by the second from the heat that seeps in from the open windows.

“We did what we came here for, let’s mo—.” 

Jesse’s voice cracks mid-sentence and his cohorts stifle a laugh. Quickly, he pulls his bandana over his mouth to hide his embarrassment. While he may be unrivaled in terms of skill within the Deadlock Rebels gang, no amount of power could save him from the wrath of puberty. The gang follows behind Jesse and makes their way out of the small shack, now an abandoned hide out of a rival group. The group had been making moves to interfere with their biggest trade partners and, well, that just didn’t sit too good with the Rebels, the best gun smugglers in the US of A.  _ Mess with the best, die like the rest _ . The thought caused a smile to spread onto Jesse’s face as he twirled his copper-colored revolver, putting it back into the holster once the barrel was point towards the ground.

Outside the shack, the Omnic Crisis’s damage on the town remained clearly visible.  Buildings are singed and broken from blasts, roads are shattered, and rubble from hovercars clutters the area around them. However, it could’ve been worse. If it hadn’t been for the formation of Overwatch, the days of fighting would’ve continued to drag on even to this day. Yet, because of them, an elite group of soldiers, hand-picked by the United Nations, the Omnic Crisis ended swiftly and life went back to being as normal as it could be after a near global apocalypse. That is, unless you were part of the Deadlock Rebels.

With the Crisis out of the way, Overwatch was tasked with handling other issues…like cracking down on weapon smuggling gangs. The group had been on Deadlock’s case for over a month now and it did nothing but burn Jesse up real good. Everything he did had to either be silent or discreet as possible, neither of which he was fairly fond of, being a man in the prime of his youth.

The three-man squad rallied up their horses and made their way back to their own hide out, a saloon that help up decently well after the Crisis, which really just meant most of the liquor bottles were still intact. 

At the bar, Jesse sits and pulls out one of his smokes, a grape cigarillo, lighting it with a clear red lighter. He takes a short drag and hoists his cowboy-boot-covered feet onto the bar top. 

“Where’s the boss?” Jesse poses the question to the open crowd surrounding him, which earns him a few looks of confusion from the other members.  _ Figures,  _ Jesse thinks to himself. Boss is known for going out on his own time, not caring for what is going on unless it’d have a direct effect on him.

Jesse finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out on the bar top. With a quick swivel in his bar stool, he’s back on his feet and strolling out the saloon doors. No one questions his actions, since no one really cares. If you chose to go out alone and never came back, well, that’s just how the dice rolled. 

Strolling down the wrecked streets of Georgia, Jesse kicked at small scraps of rubble as he made his way down. Since the Crisis, not only had jobs been scarce, but his patience was too. The large amount of downtime only gave Overwatch more of a change to catch them while their guard was down, which would most likely be the true explanation as to why Boss was never around anymore. He knew it was coming, and he had no intention on being there when it finally went down. The gang, despite their inventory of firearms, would be at an extreme disadvantage against Overwatch. What the group lacked in firepower, they made up for in raw skill. An attribute that was a rare find in Deadlock. Now, Jesse didn’t like to brag, but he definitely  _ was _ one of those rare finds in the gang. 

Joining the Rebels when he was just seventeen, he proved to be a natural at gun slinging. His aim was some of the best anyone had ever seen and his ability to smooth talk others into getting his way during missions was nothing to laugh at either. The kid was practically made for the line of work, destined to be one of the best. Jesse knew that and on the inside, he ate it up like it was his last meal. However, on the outside, he did his best to avoid scuffles that spawned from jealousy due to his skill, but they always seemed to find him when things got too quiet. Today would prove to be no different and deep down, Jesse was always mentally preparing himself for it.  

When he finally made his way back into the old saloon, he’s greeted by 5 of the gang members with faces showing anything but pleasure to see him. A cold sweat runs down the back of his neck and suddenly the bandana around his neck feels like it’s tightening, restricting his airflow.    
“Fellas…what a warm welcome. What’s the occasion…my birthday ain’t for ‘nother few months.” 

The members snort and move in closer to Jesse, surrounding him on all sides. Their hands dust lightly over their holsters, preparing themselves to grab it if Jesse threatens retaliation. A lanky fellow, wearing a worn out vest, shirt, and pants speaks up first, looking Jesse straight in the eye.

“Funny y’say that. The occasion happens t’be exactly the opposite. We’ll be celebrating the death of a legend, a kid making little  _ too _ much of a name for himself. What’s your bounty at now? 20 million?” 

Jesse’s thoughts move a mile a minute, the gang, who he had begun to consider family was now opposed to him, seeking to put him 6 feet under for doing his job. His hands feel sweaty under his leather gloves as he takes a step back, towards the flapping saloon doors. Synapses fail to connect and process the situation at hand, leaving Jesse speechless and powerless for the moment. He lets out a dry laugh, poorly attempting to lighten the mood as he raises both of his hands in a sign of cooperation.

“N-now, I reckon’ it ain’t Day of the Dead…can’t we celebrate another day? We’ve got payloads to move, areas to secure. Can’t get that done if we’re going ‘round, offing our members..ha..”

Jesse’s words buy him time to regroup his thoughts as the men in front of him process what he’s said. He begins to reach for one of his flashbangs from the back of his holster when the saloon doors fly open. He’s so close to them, it sends him flying forward, splitting the human wall in front of him in half. 

“What in tarnation is goin’ on here?!”

It’s Boss. He’s kicked the doors open and is holding his belt while he chews on the fat cigar in his mouth. It smokes faintly, smelling of black cherry. Jesse knew that smell, it meant it had been a bad day for the gang. They were in for hell, now was the not the time to have an inner scuffle. 

“I got my men getting caught up with Overwatch from the left n’ right and y’all wanna try to take out one of my best? Y’got a death wish? Because I’ll grant, we’ll go straight to the canyons.” Boss isn’t pleased in the least, he removes the cigar from his mouth and uses his other hand to take off his aviator sunglasses, revealing his face. He’s a tall man, aged around 40. His chest is broad and buff, his black hair is slicked back and it’s topped with a black cowboy hat. He wears all black in terms of clothing, the only thing standing out is his silver belt buckle, which reads REBL inside of a rectangle. 

Boss glares at the men that surrounded Jesse not only minutes ago, moving forward to kick the lanky one square in the chest. He falls to the ground with a loud thud, looking up with eyes that plead for mercy.

“B-boss, we were just messin’ with the kid. Showin’ em what it’s like to get roughed up for once. So he knows how to deal with it.” Boss isn’t impressed with his excuse, he gives him a side swipe with his boot, straight to the face. The lanky man grunts and coughs, spitting out a small amount of blood. Boss steps forward, putting his sole onto the man’s chest once more. 

“Now I ain’t gonna have to tell y’all to not do this again. Y’all done seen what’ll happen if ya do. We got it? Good. Jesse, come with me. I got a new mission for ya, since you’re my  _ ace _ .” The last word comes out in a cocky hiss, burning the standing gang members like a white fire flame. They attempt to hide their glares as Jesse follows Boss and his guards to the back of the saloon, where the old office is now repurposed as the Boss’s personal room. The guards, also dressed in all black, open the door for Jesse and Boss, letting them in and following afterwards. 

The door is shut with a deafening slam and Boss takes a seat in his cowhide chair. To the normal eye, it’s an eyesore: a thrown type chair that has the normal red velvet replaced with real cowhide. A thick gold outlines the chair, bolting in the cowhide. Jesse watches Boss take a seat, resting his sculpted arms on the gigantic armrests.  _ Sure would give a lot to take a seat in that chair, it’s fit for a king,  _ Jesse thinks to himself. Once he’s past the fascination with the chair, he tunes into Boss, who’s setting his sunglasses down on the wooden desk that stands between the two of them. 

“Sit.” 

The young cowboy nods, taking a seat in the barstool that’s been taken from the front of the store. He puts his hands in his lap, fiddling his thumbs together. 

“Now, Jesse. You’ve been so good to us. One of the best, I mean that, really do. I think it’s bout time you show us what ya’ got, what you  _ really _ got.”

His attention is caught, like a lasso to a cow. This is what he’s been waiting for, the chance to be someone. The chance to have a purpose. Jesse McCree, a boy who came from nothing, becoming something. He raised his head slowly, trying to not seem to eager when he responds to the man before him:

“I’m listening.”

Boss pulls files from the desk, flopping a thick envelope onto the surface. He flips it open and a picture of a young, Asian male is shown. His hair is pulled into a low ponytail as he wears a blue kimono-looking garb. The male’s eyes are dark and unwavering; he’s glaring at whoever took the photo. Across his chest is a thick strap, holding an arrow quiver that can just barely be seen in the photo.  _ Ain’t too shabby on the eyes. _

“Hanzo Shimada. He checks in at 5 foot 6. What he lacks in height, makes up in power. He’s the son of Goro, leader of the Shimada clan. Next in line for the thrown, you could say. He’s got some dragon tattoo on his left arm, people say it’s got some fancy power. I ain’t seen it, I don’t know. All I  _ do _ know is: we need him gone. His old man’s about to kick the bucket and we don’t want any successor. Has a brother too, but ain’t a problem. Too young to take over and ain’t interested no way. Shimada clan is in the same line of work as us and wants to expand their trade internationally, we can’t have that. You get where I’m going with this?” Boss cocks an eyebrow up at Jesse, waiting for his response.

Jesse nods and a disappointed expression shows on his face.  _ Just a bounty hunt? _ _ Too bad _ ,  _ he really is a cute thing. _ No problem. Jesse lifts his hat off of his head, shaking his hair out before putting it back on, getting his head back in the game. This was no time to be thinking about unnecessary things like how attractive a target was, it only distracted him from getting the job done. He’d been burned before and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. Just get in, and get out. Nothing more, nothing less.

“So when are they set to come to our turf? I was thinkin’ bought upgrading my weapon—“ he’s cut off. Boss gives him a smirk and Jesse connects the dots:  _ there’s a catch. _

“Well son, that’s where you show us what you can do. You’ll have to infiltrate ‘em yourself and take him out.” Jesse is quick to respond.

“Ain’t that all the way in Hanamura? In  _ Japan _ ?”

“ _ Bingo _ .” Boss’s cocky hiss returns as he leans back into his chair, relighting his cigar.  _ Oh yeah, he’s also been trainin’ to be an assassin since he was born. _

The black cherry smell fills the room. A scent of bad fortune, bad times. A scent Jesse knew way too well after his year in the gang. Nothing good ever happened after black cherry days and one could only escape bad fortune for so long. 

But, he wasn’t going to let this get him. He was Jesse McCree, the  _ ace  _ of the Deadlock Rebels. He rubbed his right bicep with his left palm, where under his shirt, the Deadlock’s skull insignia is permanently etched into his skin. 

“You got it, Boss. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Jesse tips his hat, fixing the bandana around his neck afterwards. “Lemme upgrade my gear and I’ll head out. Don’t need to pack much, when ya ain’t got much.” Boss gave him as big of a smile as he could, without having the cigar pinched between his teeth falling out.  _ Stupid kid _ , he thought.

“I got something just for ya, one from recent trades. I was savin’ it for myself, but y’done earned it.”

Boss reaches into the safe behind the desk, grabbing a shiny revolver. It’s fitted with a spur at the bottom of the butt of the gun, perfect for a cowboy. He slides it across the desk, giving the sign for Jesse to pick it up as he sits back in his cowhide thrown.

“It’s called peacekeeper, it’s got a bit of a kickback, but it one of the most powerful out there. Got it from some Swiss guys last week. Only one of its kind, that spur there is the proof.”  _ It’s good, but ain’t good enough to save you, not where you’re going.  _

Jesse runs his fingers over the gun’s detailing. It’s a mixture of shiny silver and gun-metal matte black. The six bullet revolver is like nothing he’s ever seen before. It was pristine and had a perfect weight to it. He tested the grip, it fit so well, like it was damn near was molded to fit his hand.  _ Peacekeeper, huh, well ain’t that some irony given what yer gonna be used for.  _

“Thanks Boss, mighty nice of you to give me somethin’ like this.” He flashes the older man a wide grin and he plays with the spur, it isn’t sharp but it’s blunt and could definitely do some damage if he needed to apply it. Boss gave him a small smile in return as slides a few boxes of ammo towards Jesse.

“Go get some practice done and be ready to leave in 4 days, I’ll make all of the preparations for you to travel.” With that, Jesse gets down from the bar stool and makes his way out of the room. He slips Peacekeeper into his holster, removing the other revolver from the other pocket. He empties the barrel of his old gun into his hand and leaves the firearm on the bar counter. The group that had surrounded him are huddled around a table, glaring at him from the other side of the saloon as he pushes open the doors and starts out the door. Just barely, Jesse catches words coming from the table’s direction:

“ _ Stupid kid _ .” 

Jesse disregards the comment, choosing to adjust his bandana instead of making a slick comment. He heads to the back of the saloon, where three training dummies are set up for a make-shift gun range. The dummies consist of hovercar tires with white tarps wrapped around them. On the tarp, a poorly drawn bullseye is made in thick, red paint. The targets are pushed down onto a wooden stake, most likely taken from a nearby destroyed building. 

_ Bang. Bang. Bang.  _

The bullets fly out smoothly, but Boss wasn’t kidding when he said the kickback was something fierce. Jesse rubs his shoulder and decides to make an effort to increase his strength in order to handle the power. He reviews his handiwork while still gripping his shoulder, three clean holes are made through the center of the targets. A smirk creeps onto his face as turns on the safety and twirls the gun, putting it back in the holster.

_ You best head for the hills, I’m on fire. _

* * *

 

Jesse spends the next few days on short missions, collecting a few payloads and securing a new hide out the gang. On his horse, he makes his way back to the saloon, he heads out to Japan tomorrow, but is getting debriefed one more time. He takes him time on the ride, enjoying his last sunset on American soil. 

Inside the saloon, Boss is meeting with the same lanky cowboy from before. His face is still visibly wounded from the kick, but otherwise he appears fine. Slouching in the bar stool, he gives an irritated face to Boss before he decides to speak:

“Watcha want, Boss? We gotta get the guns off this payload before someone sees ‘em.” Boss slaps the file from before back on his desk, flipping open to show the same picture as he did to Jesse.

“Yer pal McCree won’t be coming back anytime soon, I hope yer happy.” 

The lanky cowboy slithered out of the bar stool, slick as snake. With a cocky smirk, he picked up the picture paper clipped to the file.

“Ain’t that the Japanese gang boy? Shimada or somethin’?”   
  
“Ya damn right it is and Jesse just walked out thinkin’ that killin’ em is gonna be easier than shootin’ a fish in a barrel.”

“Y’didn’t tell him about him? Nothing about the whole, y’know, family of assassins?”

“Wouldn’t be solvin’ yer problem if I did somethin’ as dumb as that.”

“Now Boss, that’s kinda harsh—“ Boss cut him off, slamming his fist onto the oak desk, biting down on his cigar— hard.

“Yer calling me,  _ harsh _ ? This is coming from the fella that a few days ago was ready tuh put a bullet through the kid’s head. The hell is wrong with ya? You done seen God within the last 72 hours?” The lanky cowboy’s face runs a bright red. He steps back and clears his throat, recomposing himself. If he doesn’t act right, he’ll be the next on the hit list. 

“Nah Boss. Nothin’ like that. Just seems like yer goin’ out of your way in order to do away with a  kid.”

“Well, this  _ kid _ , ain’t too bad. I doubt he’ll be able to get the Shimada boy, but he can at least probably weaken their defenses, lessen their numbers. I’ve been aiming for the clan for a long time now, figure no better time than the present to test the waters, see our competition.” The cowboy gives Boss a contorted face of confusion, he cocks his head to side.

“Not tryin’ to disrespect ya boss, but, how are you gonna find out about our competition if he’s going solo?”

“Well well well, looks like we got ourselves a smart cookie don’t we? Glad ya asked. Gather up yer boys, you’re going in undercover. Follow Jesse for a month in the least. If he dies, come back. If he doesn’t, come back to report and let us know what we’re in for. We’ll take care of the kid ourselves when we head in to attack the clan.” The color drains from the cowboys face as the Boss speaks. He immediately sees through Boss’s words and realizes what’s truly going on in his head. His thoughts snap back to the day of the scuffle with Jesse and after a moment, it hits him:  _ black cherries, bad fortune.  _

It wasn’t just Jesse that was going down, the boss was planning on running everyone into the ground. Destroy the gang, take the glory…before the good guys did. If Boss didn’t get rid of them now, everyone would get taken in by Overwatch, including him. They had been narrowly escaping for the longest, but it wouldn’t be long before the chase ended. Deadlock was running low on members and equipment and meanwhile, Overwatch just kept growing in both aspects. After all, looting from your own trades could only get you so far in comparison to government funding. Outside of that, the gang life was something that appealed to very little, even less after the devastation of the Crisis. And yet, Overwatch recruitment had seen a near 200% increase once the Omnic Crisis was over: soldiers, healers, and specialists of all background were being brought into the group personally by their leader, James Morrison.

Frantically, the cowboy’s eyes darted around the room. He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond in a way that wouldn’t get him killed. If he accepts, he will die by the hands of the Shimada clan. If he declines, his lights go out right before his eyes. Suddenly, an idea flashes through his brain. The answer is so simple; he briefly wonders why he was ever worried in the first place.

_ What if— we never go. Get off before the plane takes off. Go into hiding. Report to Boss after ‘bout a month. Easy. Genius. _

His face widens with a large grin and he slams his hand onto the desk.    
  
“You got yourself some intel agents, Boss.” The lanky man made his way out the door, whistling the tune of a country song on his way. When he opened the door, none other than Jesse McCree stood in front of him. They both stiffened. Him, in awkward state of knowing the kid was getting sent to his deathbed. Jesse, in fear of thinking the man still had intentions of doing that himself. They swap places silently, Jesse moving into the office like a scolded child. Upon entering the room, he seats himself in the bar stool and regains his composure. He’s here to debrief for his mission, it was no time to be timid. He made it this far because of his confidence and he had to retain it if he wanted to stay ahead.

“Ya ready for this, kid?” The cigar is still lodged between Boss’s teeth, although now he’s rested snug against the back of the cowhide plush of his thrown: he was visibly sinking into it. Jesse nodded his head curtly, his silent confirmation. Jesse fiddled with his belt loops, rubbing his thumb on the gold BAMF buckle. Out of all of his clothing, it was the one thing he aimed to keep clean at all times. “Well alright then, let’s get right to it.”

Three months. Jesse is given three months in Japan to complete his mission. Boss has wired money to an air b&b to pay for his accommodations. Jesse will be enrolled into Hanamura Academy, the private high school where the elder Shimada brother is currently attending to finish his last year. 

The school is known for high literacy rates in both Japanese and English, thus offering the opportunity for students to have their entire curriculum taught in either of the languages. This also makes it ideal for transfer students to enroll as well, which is wear a large portion of the funding for the school comes from. Class 3-C and 3-F are designated English classrooms. Jesse will be admitted to the school as a third year, placed in Shimada’s class. Luckily, it is an English curriculum class, so he will have little issue understanding at least the material being taught. Passing is another story, but a worry to deal with when the time comes. He is set to enroll at the beginning of the second term, in early September. Boss begins to end the conversation by going over Hanzo Shimada profile one last time, to keep the image fresh in Jesse’s mind.   
  
“I doubt you’ll ever be able to see the entire tattoo, but, if you look at his wrists, you should be able to see the head of the dragon. You got any other questions, kid?” Jesse shakes his head and tips his hat, another silent confirmation.

“Couldn’t be any clearer, Boss.”

The debriefing finishes with scarce details on his daily routines. Hanzo is picked up and dropped off at the school by a private car. Normally, he is accompanied by his brother, Genji Shimada, but is often seen going home without him. He is not known for associating with others outside of Genji, who has just entered the school as a first year. Hanzo is not in part of any clubs or extracurricular activities and does not go to additional classes once the school day is done. In short, there is little opportunity to catch him alone. The job couldn’t be any more restricted, yet, Jesse sat in the bar stool, ready to rock and roll. 

The next day, he’s in the airport waiting for his midnight plane. He now understands why Boss needed a few days before he left as he looks down at the ticket…a name other than his own printed on it. In his other hand, an ID with a matching fake name compliments it. Jesse cranes his neck to the side to get a look at the clock,  _ 11:15PM.  _ They’d be letting him board soon. He took a look at his inventory, making sure he had everything. 

In his small, red suitcase he carried three pairs of jeans, multiple worn out plaid shirts and just as many t-shirts. A mess of undergarments, bandanas and a single serape littered the bottom of the suitcase, hidden beneath the clothing. Peacekeeper was disassembled and placed into a flight friendly case, the ammo kept beside it. A few minor hygiene items are packed in a zipped pocket, along with a cleaning kit for his gun. 

Lastly, he tips his hat,  _ most important thing, can’t forget that. _ Boss told him it would only earn him odd stares in the foreign country but he still insisted on taking it, claiming it to be part of the little identity he has.  _ And when you’re in this life, it just ain’t something you wanna have too much of. Just enough for your enemies to recognize who they’re facin’.  _ Everything checks out, it’s all there: he’s ready to go. 


	2. I See Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll meet Hanzo soon, I promise. This chapter was not beta checked AS MUCH as chapter one, so expect edits in time. Let me know if you see any crazy grammatical errors. I'm a computer science major so we really don't care about those things.

His flight is called at promptly 11:30PM, as he waits in line to board the plane he looks at the others around him. Businessmen and women are in suits with their neck pillows already in place, one family is huddled together attempting to calm down their toddler who must have a fear of planes. Due to the time of the flight, there is little to survey and his analysis ends quickly. Soon enough, he’s next in line to board and he hands the omnic at the desk his ID and ticket. It peers down and ensures the names match, punching down a green circle on it afterwards. It hands the items back Jesse and he takes them silently, thinking in his head: _didn’t even question it, must be a darn good fake._ Although, Jesse really wouldn’t know. He entered into the gang life so early, he hadn’t needed one prior to it. After he joined, he learned real names were something better left behind or forgotten.

Jesse got on the plane in silence, taking his seat which was right in the middle of the tiny aircraft. Despite the little space available in the plane, his row remained empty. Not that he minded, it was going to be a long flight.  He looked out the small, oval window watching as the plane ascended into the midnight clouds. His fingers tapped the arm of the chair as he watched the lights from the airport start to fade. The reality of his mission was beginning to set in right along with a wave of anxiety. The feeling of setting off on a new mission always made him a bit nervous, however this time felt different. He was going in blind and there would be no one to save him if he needed help due to his reckless nature. It was kill or be killed, but this time was more serious. It could easily be the end. Jesse knew that and it scared him to his core. For the first time in his life: he was truly afraid.

By the time the plane had reached its peak speed, Jesse had grabbed his serape and attempted to make it into a pillow. He fades in and out of sleep, his nerves continuing to eat at him in his sleep via nightmares. Eventually, he wakes a final time due to the rough landing of the plane. He lets out a sigh of relief and grabs his carry-on, feeling nothing but excitement to get off of the vessel.

Jesse wanders around the airport aimlessly for half an hour until he manages to find what he can only assume is his escort to his lodging. The escort, who Jesse almost misses when scanning due to their height difference, is holding up a stereotypical white sign that boldly states the letters: M-C-R-E-E. Jesse tsks, _they forgot the second C._

The escort leads him from the airport to a train station, where they board a train to Hanamura district. He is a small man, his hair pulled back into a high bun, where it is secured with a white ribbon. On the train, Jesse flips through the small notebook that Boss had prepared for him. Upon giving it to the boy, Boss thought: _it’s like a final gift before he is sent off to his death_. _Perhaps he’ll be able to understand the final words they say to him as they finish him off._

The train ride is smooth and fast, better than any ride Jesse had hitched while in the states. In no time, the overhead speaker chimes before it lets out a female voice. Jesse can’t make out most of what it says, but he hears ‘Hanamura’ and stands up in near unison with his escort. Together, they step out onto the platform and make their way out of the station. It’s a short walk to the air b&b where Jesse will reside for the next three months.

The home is a decent size, two floors with a small garage off to the side. The house is surrounded by a brown brick fence structure, a gold colored plaque with Japanese characters is one of two things to provide contrast to it. The other is a small, white swinging half-door that separates the brick from being a full-fledged wall. The escort goes through it first, holding the door open for Jesse afterwards.

Behind the solid fence is are two small square patches of grass, making for the front lawn. The grass is still lush, despite fall beginning to loom in. Against the house are rectangular garden plots that are filled with leafy foliage, small purple flowers stand high on their stalks within the thick of leaves that lays low to the ground. Together, they step onto the small slab of concrete and the door opens before they can even ring the doorbell.

“ _I was wondering when you’d get here, this is the boy?_ ” The man who opens the door speaks swiftly. However, he speaks in Japanese…leaving Jesse clueless. His escort responds curtly in the same language and looks up at Jesse, silently gesturing for him to introduce himself. Jesse flashes a smile down at the man and thinks to himself; _can’t speak Japanese, but I speak fluent hand gesture._

“Names McCree, Jesse McCree.” _Shit_. He realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that the man in front of them spoke Japanese, not English. Quickly, he reaches for his tiny notebook and makes a bold attempt to introduce himself again—

“Wata..shi..no..na mai--.” each syllable is dragged out in a slightly confused tone, but before he can finish he is quietly cut off.

“While I do appreciate the effort, my English is quite good. Thank you for bringing him here, Tsubaki. I’m afraid I got caught up in a few chores and could not greet you at the station, Jesse.” Jesse realizes that his escort had not introduced himself during the journey and before he can say anything, Tsubaki has turned around and made his way towards the white swinging door. Jesse watches him exit through the gate and turns towards the taller man, not even attempting to hide his dumbfounded face. The man stifles a laugh and gestures for Jesse to come inside. Inside the foyer are multiple pairs of room shoes, which he tells Jesse to put on before coming further into the house. The cowboy toes off his boots and slips on the biggest pair he sees, he’s relieved to find they fit perfectly.

“My name is Satima, feel free to call me that. If it is too hard, you can think of something easier…a nickname, if you’d like. Don’t worry about Tsubaki, he is not much for words, even less for introductions.” He leads them into a living room, fit with an ivory couch in the shape of an L. Jesse sets his suitcase next to him as he sits down at one of the ends. Satima takes his place at the other end of the couch.

Jesse takes this time to take inventory on the other man. Satima is a tall, slender, Japanese man. His black hair is short and tousled, yet thick. He wears black, thick-rimmed glasses with engravings in white on the sides. They’re in Japanese, so Jesse hasn’t the faintest clue what they say. The  worn out, navy blue t-shirt outlines the muscles in his arms, it’s a stark contrast to the comfy look his black joggers provide. Jesse looks at his facial features and decides he can’t be older than 30. In short, he looks…completely normal.

“Surprised about your host?” Satima reclines back into the sofa, giving Jesse a small smirk.

“Pretty good intuition you got there, fella— err Satima.” Satima waves, as if he’s deflecting the implied apology.

“Don’t worry about it, you needn’t be so formal with me. After all, we come from similar backgrounds. Yakuza and American gang life…they have their similarities. Which I suppose leads me into telling you, I am fully aware of your reason for being here, you may think of me as support.”

That’s when Jesse saw something he had never seen before. Satima picked up a white pair of gloves from the coffee table that was just in reach from the couch. As he slipped them on effortlessly, Jesse noticed light blue detailing on the palm side of the gloves. It glowed, even in the daylight. Before Jesse could question the reasoning for it: Satima provided an answer.

Quickly, he pinched his index and thumbs together on each hand, then quickly tapped both the sets of joined fingers together, as he pulled them apart at an angle, a holographic screen stretched out between them. The bluish light displayed a figure that Jesse recognized: Hanzo Shimada. Jesse gives the picture a second glance, _still looks just as good as the first time._

“Ah, the reaction never gets old. Bet you never saw tech like this in the wild west, did ya kid?” Satima swiped the screen to the right, sending it Jesse’s way so he could get a closer look.

“I suppose yakuza and cowboys have a few differences…my guys were real big on technology and hacking. Learned most of what we know from a young Spanish girl. We had the information she wanted and she had the skills we needed. Pretty fair trade off, if I do say so myself.”

Satima used his right index finger and swiped up on his left palm, the screen in front of Jesse changed in sync with his movements. Information regarding Hanzo Shimada began to stream at a decent pace in front of him, providing more detail than Boss had given back in the States. The Shimada Castle was mapped out in front of him, simple floor plans with detailed notes about where the rooms of both the brothers and the clan’s head were, highlighted in red as target points. Other data filled him on Hanzo’s weapon of choice, a bow. Little after that is when Jesse saw it: the history of the Shimada clan.

“A family…of _assassins_?” Jesse raised his hand to touch the screen to stop the automatic scroll, when he pressed against the holographic screen it dissolved into nothing: Satima had closed his hand, his eyes widening just enough to be noticeable.

“You didn’t know that? Who’d you think you were up against? Some random kid?”

“I knew he came from a family that was in the business like ours, but nothin’ like this. He’s been training since _birth?_ ”

Now, it was time for Satima to look dumbfounded, thoughts were flooding his mind as quickly as the panic was. _Was this kid really sent in blind? What is this, a suicide mission? He’s just a kid for fucks sake._ Satima’s thoughts continue to boil in his head, his anger along with it. If there’s anything he has a soft spot for, it was for the young people who found themselves tied up into gang affair. Gang affiliated or not, kids still needed guidance and it wasn’t going to come from thin air. Satima himself had been taken under the wing of leader of their group at the age of 15 and was taught an array of life lessons. How to survive, how to treat a woman, and even how to do his taxes for when he finally left the yakuza life behind were just a few things he came out with.

Alas, Satima let out a sigh, realizing at the end of the day he wasn’t surprised in the least that Deadlock cared little for their members. Boss ran a tight ship and he cared for himself above anything, anyone who had been around for long enough knew that. It wasn’t the first time he had sent someone in to simply get rid of them and it wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes, that’s just how the dice rolled.

_Stupid kid. Do you even know what you’ve gotten yourself into?_

Satima ended his silence and repeated the pinching motion once more, the screen reappearing in front of him. This time, he put both of his hands over one another, one palm resting atop the back of the other. He spreads his hands apart and the one lone screen produced two more, one coming from each side. The leftmost screen displayed Hanzo’s picture and Satima pushed it over to be in front of Jesse. While Jesse sat in silence, Satima made busy work of pulling up documents and data on the other two screens: family members, family history and other related data via news articles from underground sources. Once he had amassed all of the information he wanted, he slid the screens to allow Jesse to see them.  
  
“You should take a look at this information, learn what you’re up against. I don’t know much about you, but you either be stupid or pretty damn good to try and face a Shimada alone. If his bow doesn’t get you, his dragons surely will. I’ve seen their power; it is nothing to laugh at.” Jesse looked up in the instant he heard ‘dragon’, giving Satima a look of disbelief.

“Them dragons…what Boss said was real? Is it some sort of magic?”

“I don’t know if magic is the right word for it, but I suppose it’s a start in explaining it. The tattoo—“ Satima moved his index finger in a scrolling motion, the screen with Hanzo’s picture moving up only to display a slightly blurry photo of Hanzo’s arm, showing the dragon tattoo in detail.

“The tattoo is where they come from. When the tattoo is finished, it means he has full control over them. He can call them whenever he needs it, at the expense of most of his energy. It’s usually a last resort for the family, but it never fails. Even if they’re close to dead from exhaustion after summoning, well, you should see the other guy. You don’t escape them. They have minds of their own and they just…consume you. One of my comrades, he was caught in Goro’s dragon years ago. He simply vanished into thin air as the dragon passed him, never to be seen again. He was eaten... consumed by the dragon.”

Satima looked down, letting out a sigh, the memory still clearly having a negative effect on him. Jesse stayed quiet, pushing the urge to ask for more information away. Instead, he continued to flip through the files in front of him while Satima collected himself. Further down the picture file showed images of a glowing blue light raising itself from Hanzo’s arm frame by frame and Jesse couldn’t believe his eyes.

The light quickly took shape, first forming the detailed scales, then the head’s shape and lastly the details of the face. However, it was the last picture that sent Jesse over the edge. The frame depicted a raging dragon’s face, sharped teeth bared…ready to devour whatever was in front of it. The dragon’s eyes shone a bright gold, despite the natural coloring of the screen and reflected the cold soul of a bloodlust killer. The image was terrifyingly clear and sent a chill down the cowboy’s spine. He swiped his hands at the screen, attempting to get it away from his face as he scrambled further back into his seat on the couch.

Jesse was in disbelief. Jesse was more than just shocked. The panic from his flight was threatening to return. Jesse’s breath was quick and shallow, his hands refused to stop shaking. He balled his hands into fists, looking up at Satima, who stared back at him with wide eyes that were filled with concern. Jesse spat words out of his mouth, doing anything he could to distract himself from having a panic attack.

“What is _wrong_ with him? How can he just _do that?_ The dragon just…went n’ lifted up from his arm and—.” Jesse was at a loss for words, rather his lips lost the ability contort into the proper shapes in order to say them. The panic was settling in, despite his attempt to shake it. Satima stood up, closing his hand and the screens all at once. The loss of light caused Jesse to shift his focus, looking up at the older man with wide eyes.

“That, is the power of the Shimadas. Those with the blood are born with dragons, those who train learn to able to wield them. They are ferocious and will consume anything within the path their wielder tells them to follow.”

Jesse nodded silently, taking in the information as calmly as he could. When his breath finally settled after sitting in silence to process, he asked for the pictures to be brought up once more. As he looked at the images again, the reality became even more real regarding the dangers that lied ahead. If Jesse put himself into a bad spot, Hanzo could easily kill him. If he didn’t do it with his own skill, the dragons would surely be the cause of his downfall. While scrolling through the images, Jesse paused at final picture: the close up. He studied it carefully, this time more resolved, though still shaken. There was no ducking and rolling out of this situation, he would have to make sure he never ended up in it.

After coming to his conclusion, Jesse’s confident demeanor, if only slightly, returned to him.  He thought to himself: _I can do this; ma always used to say I was the best at smooth talking. He still a kid too, just gotta act cool._

Nodding to himself, Jesse quickly devised a simple plan: get close to Hanzo, take him out. Given time, his charms would surely give way to an opening, a moment of defenselessness and then **_bang_**. Peacekeeper would do her job.

Jesse got up from the couch, picking up his suitcase. He nodded to Satima, who was still wearing a dumbfounded face due to Jesse’s ability to recover from panic so easily. Still, he too sat up from the couch, understanding that the conversation, at least for today, was over.

Satima escorted Jesse to his room, giving him the option to be alone for the rest of the day. Jesse figured he could spend time learning about the area from the man, but he had a few more days before the term began to do that. Instead, he decided to reset his internal clock. He settled into the bed that was lower to the floor than he was used to, having removed his pants and shirt he pulled the fluffy comforter over himself and sleep quickly consumed him.

Jesse awoke at 5AM the next morning, the alarm clock on the small nightstand next to his bed beamed bright teal numbers at him. He rolled onto his back and looked out the window that was on the right side of the bed, the sky was still mainly dark but the sun had just begun to peek from the horizon. He quickly took inventory of the room, a small walk in closet was on the opposite side of the room. Next to the door that lead into it was a rectangular dresser. On his left, a desk protruded from the wall where the headboard just behind him was against. There wasn’t much in the room, but it was really all he needed in order to do his job as not only a mercenary but as a temporary student. Jesse decided he wasn’t ready to be awake and turned to his side…falling back asleep.

When he awoke again the sun was pouring through his window, demanding attention from him. Jesse dragged himself out of the bed, making his way out the door to head towards the shower. Yesterday had taken so much out of him, almost too much. His initial fear had passed during sleep and now only a clear realization of his current situation remained: he had to kill someone that could wield dragons. Despite the confidence in his plan, Jesse still had to do his best shake off the shiver that crawled down his back as hot water rained down on his face from the shower.

Once he was fresh, he returned back to his room to throw on an outfit that barely differed from yesterday: red flannel with a band t-shirt under and black jeans that shaped his thighs just right. He then made his way down the stairs, following the smell of freshly cooked food with eager steps.

Satima stood in front of the stove, frying two eggs in a pan with one hand, browsing at what Jesse could only assume was the internet with the other, gloved hand.

“Mornin’ partner.”

Satima made a low noise as a response, sliding the eggs onto the already loaded plate before pushing it across the wooden table that separated him and Jesse. He clenched his fist, closing his window before he looked up to regard Jesse.

“Eat. We have much to accomplish today. I will show you around the area so that come Monday, you can attend school without looking like a stranded puppy.” Jesse opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of much to say in response, so instead he sat on the stool in front of him and ate his breakfast in silence.

Satima made quick work of cleaning the kitchen, taking sips of his mug of coffee as he loaded the dishwasher. Once finished, he pushed a small cup of amber liquid towards Jesse and gestured for him to drink.   
“Coffee cake tea, it has caffeine in it, but not too much. You are much too young to need actual coffee.” Jesse rolled his eyes as he took a sip of the sweet liquid, it warmed his body slowly and woke him up fully in the process. When he’s cleared his plate, he rinses it off and returns to the L shaped couch to wait for Satima, who has managed to disappear in the short time.  

Jesse is scrolling through his phone, looking for something to pass the time when Satima finally returns. He’s dressed in an outfit similar to yesterday, however now he is also sporting a matte black messenger bag that fits snugly against his back, the silver belt buckle on the sling fitting square in his chest. Satima gestures his head towards the door and they both make their way out of the house and into the warm, autumn air.

Once out into the neighborhood, Satima takes the time to point out all sorts of small shops; from convenience stores to tiny ramen restaurants, the area seems to has everything he could ever need. Jesse stays silent most of the day, doing his best to remember all of the information the older man is relaying to him as they walk. In a few stores, Jesse is taken in and introduced to the owners, who are informed Jesse is staying with Satima, but has a limited vocabulary.

“ _Please look after him, I would be extremely grateful_.” Satima bows after ending his statement and the convenience store owner lets out a hearty laugh.

“ _You know we all would do just about anything for you, Satima. You don’t have to ask so formally. We’ll make sure the boy doesn’t get lost during his time here. I’ll even reassure the kid in English for you_.” The shorter man gives Jesse a smile.  
“You’ve got a great host, boy. You be grateful to him now and don’t cause him any trouble, y’hear?” Jesse nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops awkwardly, trying to hide his embarrassment. The two make their way out of the store and continue their tour by heading towards the local train station.

* * *

 

After what seems like hours of Jesse fumbling with electronic machines in attempts to get a train ticket and getting onto said train, they finally end up back in the Hanamura district. Despite the frustration, the experience isn’t totally fruitless as Jesse is able to pick up a few simple phrases and repeat them with ease.

As they walk along a road from the station, Satima stretches out his arm to point to a set of buildings, which are surrounded by gate constructed of white brick and metal bars.

“That’s where you’re gonna go to school, it’s a pretty intimidating set of buildings at first but I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle.” Beyond the metal bars, Jesse observes three buildings offset from one another. He assumes the middle one is where most classes are held, as it makes the buildings to each of its side appear as dwarves in comparison. There is a heavy feeling in his stomach, his unease catching up with him as he remembers why he’s here. If only for a moment, he had forgotten. The two walk together in silence, heading towards an alley they had walked by earlier in the day; only now it is lit by the warm glow of paper lanterns.

Their day ends in one of the small ramen restaurants, where Jesse listens to Satima’s stories about yakuza life: stories of losing those he truly cared about, including his own mother. After that, he decided that it wasn’t the life for him. It simply wasn’t worth the heartache. He sighed, looking down at his can of beer, swirling it a few times before speaking again.

“You’re still young enough to get out of this whole mess yourself, Jesse. You could go back home, leave that horrid gang, and start a new life for yourself. There’s more to life than taking people out just for some pocket money. Boss may not care much for you, but as long as you’re under my watch I’m going to make sure you’re alright. Even if you deny everything I say, I will not stop trying to convince you. Not until the day you get back on that plane.”

Jesse looks up at him in silence, unsure how to process the conversation. He hasn’t felt this sort of affection in almost a decade. His own father was nowhere to be found since the day he was born. His mother...robbed before his eyes when he was just 11 years old. His _abuela_ took him in and did her best to keep him on a straight path, but the gang life was almost inevitable. He needed to protect the one person that he still had and that had been the only way he knew how.

Of course, she never approved of it, and refused any sort of money or gifts Jesse had ever brought to her. _I don’t want any money with blood on it Jesse, come back when you’ve earned that the right way._ The scolding still lingered in his mind, still bringing a tinge of guilt every time he remembered it. He knew he disappointed her, but as long as she was safe, he didn’t care. As long as she was still in his life: nothing else mattered.

Jesse sighed, looking up at Satima whose eyes were shiny with forming tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His expression reflected his abuela’s perfectly, the same worry, the same disappointment. Returning his eyes to the worn out wood of their table, Jesse felt a lump grow in this throat. Still, he forced himself to speak anyway.  
“Let’s go home. Cows will be back before us if we stay here any longer.”

The two walked back together in silence: Satima with a tinge of regret, Jesse with a dash of guilt. The two split the second they walk beyond the foyer, not even uttering ‘good night’ to one another.  Jesse, emotionally exhausted from the entire ordeal, drags himself up the stairs. Just like the night before: he crashes onto his bed and sleep takes over him instantly.

When Jesse opened his eyes again, he was laying on lightly colored tatami that shined in the sunlight that poured in due to the sliding _shoji_. He looked around the room, tan walls surrounded him, creating a perfect square. There were lanterns hanging from the ceiling and atop of wooden posts. In front of him was a small altar, where a sword and a bow rest on the stand. Behind it, a long scroll hangs, painted with characters Jesse is unable to read. Stairs frame the altar, leading to what Jesse assumes is a back room. He presses his hand into the straw-like floor, raising himself up to his feet.

He steps towards the altar, slowly inching closer with every step. He feels for Peacekeeper, she’s nested snug in his belt holster. When he is just before the swords, a blast of green flies past him, he’s barely able to register it before it is gone. He whips his head back, half hoping nothing will be there so that he knows he is safe. Unfortunately, his hopes are in vain.

Slender, like a snake, a green opaque dragon stood before him. The whiskers moved slowly, rising and falling with the breath of the dragon. It glared down at Jesse, refusing to blink and break eye contact. The claws curled into the straw mat as it moved forwards towards him, creating vicious looking pawprints. Then..it spoke.

_You dare seek to harm a Shimada? You know nothing of what is in store for you. This is your only warning to think again. You will meet your end if you choose to do otherwise._

The voice was loud, each syllable booming in Jesse’s ear. The deep and unforgiving tone of the voice rendered him immobile instantly. The slow walk became a run, the dragon’s mouth opened wide as its feet lifted from the ground, now flying. Just before it reached Jesse, he hid himself behind his own arms and closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. The impact knocked him to his feet, the following wind rush knocking off his hat and pushing him into the wall of the altar.

When he looked up, any sign of the green dragon was gone. The room was empty and peaceful once again. Jesse reached for his hat, which laid only a few feet in front of him. As he moved, a hint of green caught his attention from the corner of his eye, causing his heart to race. Right under the ceiling, above the upper windows of the castle, was a painting of two dragons. One blue, one green. Their bodies were twirled together, teeth bared at one another.  Jesse’s eyes widened as he scrambled back into the wall in fear. His chest heaved up and down, his breaths became short and panicked. His surroundings quickly began to dim and soon...everything went dark.

Jesse woke up covered in sweat. _Just what in tarnation was that? A lucid dream? A lucid nightmare?_

**Author's Note:**

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> Please send any recommendations or comments about the fic to my tumblr,! Let's talk about overwatch! I have a playlist for this Fic called "Young & Dumb" if you're curious as to where this fic is going to go.


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